Opening Their Eyes
by ifonly13
Summary: Because who doesn't like drunk fic-writing until 3:30am post-'Always'


_**Opening Their Eyes**_

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_A collaborative story written by a sober PauliPorcupine and alwayscastle-jenn and ifonly13, who were both a teensy bit drunk post-Always - keep that in mind._

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She wakes up slowly, the daylight shimmering in the air like words spoken last night. The first thing she sees is the television, still playing the main menu of the DVD from last night. Annoying music that she dozed off to, playing over and over and... She stretches her feet down until they touch the end of the soft, suede couch, pushing one of the throw pillows onto the floor. The remote. She needs the remote to turn the music off, to leave her in the silence.

Kate leans forward, fingers searching the ground for the slim device. Her fingers curl around it, find the power button, and press it. The room goes silent. Perfectly silent.

It's nice. The way the quiet envelops her, holds her in its grasp. She closes her eyes again, cuddling deeper into the couch, holding the throw pillow against her face as she sighs. The pillow smells like old books and ink and warm wood.

Like him.

"You awake?"

She opens her eyes and sees him crouching next to her. Kate reaches out, touching a hand to his hair, all sleep tousled and hanging in his eyes. "Yeah. Morning."

"Morning," he whispers, skimming one hand over her shoulder and down her arm to her fingers, threading his through her slim digits. "Sleep well? I know the couch isn't the most comfortable but..."

She squeezes his fingers, pulling them up against her chest as she snuggles into the cushions. "Slept fine." Her grin is slow, easing over her face like the sun spilling into the room. "You gonna make me breakfast or do I have to fend for myself?"

"A gentleman always makes a lady breakfast. As soon as you want to get up," he says, standing and untangling her fingers from his, "it'll be ready."

"Can I take the pillow?" she sighs, swinging her legs off the couch and wiggling her toes against his.

"Of course."

She finds his hand again, clasping it tightly rather than trying to link them. "What're you making me?"

He tugs her toward the door, the one hidden by the wall of fencing equipment that he showed her last night. With a turn of the brass knob on the door, it opens to the study. Morning light spills out, making Kate blink her eyes at the sudden brightness. Her steps falter but he stops, putting his hand on the small of her back and giving her a little push.

"Where's Alexis?" she asks, following him around the desk, free hand trailing over the edge of the smooth, dark wood. "Wasn't graduation yesterday?"

"She's staying over at Paige's house. Some post-graduation party or something," he says, almost not paying attention to the words. "She'll be back around lunchtime."

"She gonna be okay with me being here?" Kate hates the timidity lacing her voice as he sits her at the counter.

He's already busy gathering food, piling it on the counter in front of her. "She'll be fine. She understands movie nights."

Kate pulls the throw pillow up onto the counter, resting her chin on it, and letting herself sink into the fabric. "Wasn't just a movie night..."

"You're right," he says, plugging in the countertop griddle and finding the metal mixing bowl from under the counter. "Definitely not just a movie night," he finishes as he abandons the ingredients on the counter and walks toward her. He places his lips on her own, for the first time since either of them had done so last night.

It's soft and sweet, over before she really has a chance to sink in that it's begun. He places his hands on her hips and runs them downward, hitting her thighs and ending at her knees before he turns away and back to the breakfast he was making them.

He pulls out a mixing bowl and begins to add things to it, eggs, flour, sugar, as she sits on the counter, swinging her legs, letting her heels hit the cupboard as she watches him closely.

"Coffee?" He asks turning on his machine, already knowing her answer will be yes.

"Of course," she replies, rolling her eyes and smiling, like that was even a question worth asking.

Castle hands her the mixing bowl and spoon. "Make yourself useful," he teases, turning to flip on the coffee machine.

It hums to life, clicking once in a while in time to her mixing of the batter. She looks down to the bowl in her hands, paying attention at what she is doing for the first time since he handed her the spoon.

"So, what am I helping you make me?" she asks, a small smile flitting across her face as the metal spoon clangs against the side of the bowl in her lap.

His grin is wide as he turns, resting the small of his back on the counter for a moment before pulling down mugs from a cabinet. "Oh, the one thing that will forever say thank you without words."

"Seriously," she says, setting the bowl back near the heating griddle. "Pancakes?"

"Too obvious?"

"Not at all," she answers, leaning her forearms on the counter. An attempt to bring her closer to him. He's narrowing his eyes are her, all spark and humor, as he pours out coffee. "Okay. Maybe a little."

The mug he slides over to her is one of his, his name printed on the side, a quill resting on the top. The idea of sharing mugs, of sharing anything, with him should terrify her. But it doesn't. Instead, it's like the blanket she curls up in when she's sick. Soft and warm and comforting. So she wraps her fingers around the handle, setting her palm against the heating ceramic. Against his name.

"Just pancakes?"

He shrugs, finding one of the large spoons in a drawer and dipping it into the batter. He's not creating perfect circles on the griddle. Instead, he's designing something on the black surface, tongue sneaking out between his lips in concentration.

"What're you making over there?" She asks, as he places the spoon back into the bowl and takes a small sip of his coffee.

"Oh, that's a secret." As she pushes forward, he touches his free hand to her face, giving her the gentlest of shoves back. "Patience."

She stands and walks around the counter, to him. "And what if I don't want to be patient?" she asks, placing her palms against his chest, guiding him backwards until the small of his back hits the edge of the counter. "I'm tired of secrets, Castle."

"This one is worth waiting for, I think," he whispers against her cheek. "Let's not burn breakfast okay?"

Kate steps back, just enough for him to circle around her. "Better make it good, Writer Boy," she murmurs into his ear as he passes, relishing the little shiver that runs up his arm.

"I always make it good, Kate," he replies, reaching his hand out to brush his fingertips along her side.

He couldn't get enough of this, everything he had always wanted. The simple touches, the small kisses, the act of making breakfast together, knowing that everything was changing between them. He remembered when this was all a distant fantasy, he never thought it would become his reality. Change is good.

But then she smiles, close-lipped and mysterious, as she sits back at the bar, sipping at the coffee. Her bare toes hit the underside of the counter as she watches him add another dollop of batter to the already-cooking ones on the griddle.

Kate walks the opposite way around the kitchen island, grabbing the seat closest to him cup of coffee firmly in her hand as she sips away, enjoying the simple silence that was shared between them. His eyes lock on her, watching her as she just sits there, in his kitchen, drinking coffee with lazy eyes while he is making pancakes for them.

"Still tired?" he asks, watching as her eyes slowly fluttered close after resting her head in her hand.

"Nope," she answers, keeping her eyes closed and giving her head a little shake. "Got coffee now."

He watches as a small smile begins to spread across her face. "Of course. Life is good now." Castle can feel his own face drawing up into a mirroring grin, urged on by her private happiness. Whatever going on in her mind cause it, he knew the meaning behind his own.

She stayed. She was there when he woke up, sprawled out on the couch in the hidden room behind his office, the throw blanket from the night before tangled around her body.

Life was good for certain.

"Uh, Castle?"

When he looks up, she's eyeing him with concern rather than that open expression from before. "What?"

"Pancakes. Burning." She tilts her eyes down to the griddle where the food is, indeed, sending tendrils of dark grey into the air. The laugh that bubbles up is worth the nearly-lost breakfast as he rushes for the spatula, saving the food.

He slides them onto a plate, one each, but keeps them in his hands as he searches cupboards and the fridge for something. As he sets the plate in front of her, there's a can of whipped cream next to it.

Hearts. Darker hearts in the middle of slightly-burnt pancakes.

"Too much?"

She looks over and he can see her own heart in her eyes as she reaches out to take his hand on the cool marble. Shaking her head, she squeezes his fingers. "Thank you, Castle."

And for the first time, he's able to lean forward, touch his lips to hers, and whisper back, "No, Kate. Thank you."


End file.
